Migration (64 page)

Nik said: “No argument there.” Then he looked past her and that carefree smile reappeared. “Is that ? I don’t believe it—that’s Wilson Kudla, isn’t it? Author of ‘Chasm Ghouls
—
They Exist and Speak to Me.’ I’m such a fan.”

Mac and Sing-li were left standing dumbfounded as Mr. Spy, Nik Trojanowski, dashed to where the sweaty author and his trio of equally perspiring supplicants were emerging from their curtained-off alcove.

She didn’t,
Mac decided,
want to know what they’d been doing
.

Sing-li coughed once. “You’re supposed to go with him, Mac.”

“I am?”

“Trust me.”

Fuming at the waste of time, Mac stormed up beside Nik just as he was greeting the Great Man himself.
The slight stammer while asking for an autograph was,
Mac decided,
a particularly nice touch
. Kudla, despite being one of the most nondescript Humans she’d ever met, was virtually preening.

“And, may I, could I?” Nik touched the curtain with one visibly trembling hand. “I’ve never had success before—but where you’ve been meditating? It must work!”

“Of course,” the Great Man intoned. “May the Ghouls speak to you as well.”
His smug look in her direction,
Mac told herself, returning that look with a scowl,
said more than the specters ever would.

“You’ll want to see this,” Nik promised Mac as the ghoul hunters walked off—hopefully to shower. Ignoring her protest, he took her real hand and pulled her with him through the curtain.

The alcove was little more than a tent, its fabric opaque and—Mac sneezed—a bit dusty. Small lights, designed to look like candles, ringed the junction between ceiling and walls. Mac did her best not to step on anything. It wasn’t easy, given the number of small ornate gongs lined up in rows around what was, without doubt, a very well-used mattress.

Not a place she wanted to stay.
Mac turned to protest “What’s—” but Nik’s mouth smothered the rest, the unexpected kiss making her completely forget whatever she’d planned to say anyway.

Before she could decide whether or not to lose herself in it, his finger replaced his lips against hers. “Shhh.” His eyes were hidden behind the reflections on his lenses.

Satisfied she understood, Nik climbed on the mattress and, shaking out the small telescoping wand he drew from a pocket, used it to sweep the space around them, poking into every corner, even along the ceiling. “Clear,” he pronounced an instant later.

She wanted to hug him. Instead: “Is anyone else checking?” Mac asked, her arms wrapped tightly around her middle.

“I’m told the consular staff is aware of the situation.” Low, with some frustration. “What that means, I don’t know. The Sinzi have defenses within the building but . . . no one was hurt and the Ro certainly aren’t the first aliens to trash a room here.” A shake of his head. “I came as soon as I could, Mac.”

“I know.”

He ran his fingers down her arm to the glove, giving the fingers a gentle tug. “You okay? You haven’t had any sleep, have you?”

“Better than you,” Mac asserted. “I grabbed a nap.”
It wasn’t a lie.

“We can’t stay in here long,” he said, hand dropping to his side. His nose wrinkled. “Just as well. Sing-li brought me up to speed. Now, Dr. Connor.” A note of familiar exasperation. “Why aren’t you sleeping? Why aren’t all these people sleeping? Why is that Myg in the signal room instead of sleeping? And—”

Mac raised one eyebrow. “And?”

“What the hell are you doing giving orders to my people?”

“Hopefully making a fool of myself.”

“Well, you’ve got company,” he said, shaking his head. “Remind me not to station anyone on Base again. The place corrupts.”

She couldn’t smile. “Nik, we’ve found evidence the Dhryn were taken into space, that their present state isn’t their natural one—implying they were modified. My team’s now hunting anything that ties in the Ro. When we find that—”

“If.”

“When,” she countered defiantly. “It’s them, Nik.”

He lowered his head a moment, then looked up at her over his glasses. His eyes might have been chipped from ice. “You can’t be wrong on this, Mac.”

“I’m not.”

“You know what’s at stake.”

Mac looked at him, but saw a raindrop pausing on a leaf, the surge of salmon against a current, the curious tilt of a duck’s head. Heard the cry of an eagle hidden in cloud. Felt the silky coolness of a slug resting in her hand.
And that was just Field Station Six
. A mere speck on this world. This world a mere speck among the uncounted number like it.

“Everything is at stake,” she said, her voice hard and sure. “That’s why I won’t let the Ro get away with this. Please, Nik. Come and see the evidence we have. Decide for yourself.”

“I did,” Nik snorted. “Come now, Mac. Surely you didn’t believe Sing-li could redeploy the Ministry’s assets within the consulate on his own? You had to know it would be my name on those orders—my head on the block.” His grin took on that dangerous edge, dimple showing. “Though you were late. I’d moved them into position around the Dhryn and launch pad an hour before.”

“Then why—” Mac flung her hand at their surroundings.

“Call it one chance for you to pull the plug. To tell me it had been a mistake; the Ro were going to save us after all; that you and I should head back to your cabin. It needs some work, you know. The cabin.”

The last almost made her smile.

Almost
.

“Were you similarly ahead in dealing with the signal?”

His lower lip went between his teeth for a second. “That’s trickier. Anchen, Hollans, the rest? They’re hovering around the consoles, to be there when the Ro answer back. Hardly a group to take kindly to our request they turn it off. What’s Fourteen up to?”

“He’s to let me know if there is a response. I don’t imagine I’ll be informed otherwise. And—if I ask him, he’ll try to stop the signal going out, somehow.”

“Somehow.” Nik filled the word with doubt.

Mac blushed. “Neither of us are spies. I know that. But it was the best I could do. I couldn’t very well call and ask you. No one else would listen.”

“Don’t count on that. The Sinzi-ra, Hollans? They heard my concerns—our concerns. Emily Mamani’s arrival, her appearance, shook them badly. They aren’t sure about the Ro, not anymore.”

“Not sure as in stopping the signal?”

“Not sure as in waiting to see what comes of it.”

Mac shook her head. “Risky.”

“Present situation to the contrary, they aren’t fools, Mac.”

“Comforting.” She found a smile. “We’d better get out of here before anyone starts to notice. Especially—” she added with a wince, “Sing-li.”

“One more thing, Mac.” He hesitated.

No need to guess what drew down the sides of his mouth like that
. “Emily.”

“I wasn’t able to talk to her. She’s—it’s as if she’s detached from those around her, paying attention only to certain words, certain tasks. The Sinzi-ra has promised every assistance. But until we know more of Emily’s state—”

“I’m aware of the priorities!” Mac interrupted, her voice sharper than she’d intended. She closed her eyes, sighed once, then opened them again. More gently. “Thank you, Nik. As you said. She’s here. She’s alive.

That’s infinitely better than yesterday.”

He nodded, but Mac understood the pity in his eyes.

They left the tent, its closed-in warmth making Mac feel as sweaty as any ghoul seeker. The air of the open room felt like a reprieve. Nik, as usual, appeared able to wear a suit and remain immaculate under any circumstances.

From the activity everywhere, no one had paid attention to their sojourn communing with the departed.
Well, almost no one.
Sing-li, obviously waiting for them to emerge, gestured impatiently for Nik to join him. He looked upset.

“I’ll be right back,” Nik told her, heading toward the door with long strides. “Check on your people.”

Mac took only her first steps across the room before: “Mac? A moment?” She nodded automatically and turned toward the voice, only to have all six Myg offspring hurtle up her jacket, at least one finding its way inside the collar. “What the—Unensela!”

Then Mac paused, feeling how the tiny things were quivering. Putting a protective hand over as many as she could, she looked around for what had frightened them. Her heart hammered in her chest. Everything seemed as before, normal, busy. People moving in all directions or leaning over equipment. It wasn’t enough to reassure her.

It wasn’t,
Mac realized as Unensela came hurrying up to her, prying loose her now-hysterical little ones with a running commentary about the inconvenient unavailability of a certain male Myg and whose fault was that she’d like to point out.

Where she stood opened like an eddy within a river: researchers gave her space, moving past with sidelong looks of dismay, none willing to risk curiosity.

“Hello, Em,” Mac heard herself say, as if this was a normal day at the lab, and they were meeting over coffee.

The eyes. They were the worst. Flat, dull, the whites so bloodshot they made Mac’s own eyes burn in sympathy.

Emily hadn’t come alone. Two consular staff flanked her to either side, discreetly behind. They met Mac’s inquiring look with that impassive, attentive expression. Watchers.

Not the only ones.
They had Nik and Sing-li’s attention as well—explaining Sing-li’s urgent summons. Nik caught her eye.

Mac shook her head, very slightly.

“Need some help?” The words were Emily-normal; the voice anything but. It could have been a recording.
And what would Emily say to you, Mac? What sequence of syllables would make you believe she still existed within that frame?

Play along,
Mac thought, sick to her soul. “Always. You could help me with the—”
not near the Mygs,
“—cartographers. That group there.”

The body turned in the direction Mac indicated, graceless yet with coordination and strength.
Not starved—emaciated from something else,
she judged, giving a frantic hand signal to Mirabelle as they headed her way.
How did you warn someone about your best friend?
Emily’s bizarre appearance would likely do it for her.

Her being here, now, couldn’t be coincidence,
Mac decided.

It could be opportunity.
How much of you is left, Emily?

“Welcome to the Origins Team, Em,” Mac began. Her voice sounded strained even to her and she coughed to clear it.
She could do this. She
had
to do this
. “We’re working on where the Dhryn came from—had some breakthroughs already this—morning.”
The word was appropriate,
Mac told herself, even if dawn was still some hours away. “I think you’ll be impressed by our findings.”

Emily might have been a walking plague, the way silence spread ahead of their little procession and murmuring followed it. Mac scowled at everyone in general, to no avail, then her eyes found Mudge. She beckoned him with a curt nod.

He came, eyes filled with the horror Mac felt. “Dr. M-Mamani,” he managed. “Good of you to join us.”

“This is Oversight—Charles Mudge III—Emily. I’m sure you remember all my stories about him.” Mac shot Mudge a warning look.

He gave a miserable excuse for an offended
harrumph,
but gamely offered his hand.
No lack of guts,
Mac thought gratefully.

Forced to stop walking or run over him, Emily looked down at his hand for a few seconds, then turned to stare at Mac.

She was frowning.

No, not frowning,
Mac thought with sudden hope. She knew that thoughtful crease between Em’s dark eyebrows, had seen it every time the other scientist focused on a problem. “What is it, Em?” she asked gently.

“Where is this place?”

Hadn’t anyone told her?
Mac felt a rush of sympathy. “On Earth,” she offered. “You’re home.”

“Earth isn’t safe.” The crease eased away. “It will be, when the Myrokynay are made welcome.”

Over my dead body,
Mac said, but kept her expression as close to neutral as she could.

“Perhaps you could help us understand the Ro better, Em,” she suggested, changing her mind about the cartography. “We’ve questions.”

“Always glad to be of help, Mac.” Cold. By rote.

Mac felt the sting of tears in her eyes and fought them back. “Great. Let’s get a spot out of everyone’s way, shall we? Oversight? Will you get Lyle and—Stefan—to join us please?”

She started walking, too abruptly, and bumped into one of Emily’s shadows. The collision was startling enough, given how adept the consular staff were at avoiding contact, but even more was the feel of a small object being thrust into her hand. Mac didn’t look down, she just pushed the thing into her pocket.

No telling what it was
. From the feel, a cold metal cylinder of some kind. Perhaps the Sinzi-ra had sent her a message. Some kind of imp.
If it was a weapon
—Mac jerked her hand from her pocket.
New rule,
she told herself.
Don’t fondle unknown alien objects.

A moment later, the four of them sat at one end of the conference table, the staff standing their precise distance behind Emily. The rest of the room’s inhabitants were too carefully uninterested. Unensela’s offspring, now mute, had taken refuge under her lab coat.
Excellent survival response,
Mac thought. She avoided thinking against what.

Nik showed no expression beyond polite attention, although Mac had learned the signs. He wasn’t pleased—whether because Emily was here at all, or because Mac was preparing to discuss their work with her, she couldn’t tell.